


Chaos;and all the loopholes it doesn’t have, or;bloopers of attempted cursebreaking

by PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Cursed Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Curses, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So Done, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Minor Injuries, Podfic Welcome, Transformative Works Welcome, bloopers, increasingly weird methods of attempted curse escaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson/pseuds/PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson
Summary: Geralt is cursed to not be able to go outside the castle he is stuck in. But Witchers (especially Geralt) are stubborn problem solvers, and Geralt will find a loophole in the magic if it’s the last thing he does!But it is called Chaos for a reason
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Roach
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Day one, or;Geralt has hope

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That Unwanted Animal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389785) by [CapriciousKapro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousKapro/pseuds/CapriciousKapro). 



> It’s my first Witcher fic! Yay!!🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
> 
> ...and it’s also something I wrote in a day that was barely edited... basically, I was inspired, and had to share it.
> 
> I beg you to read the story this was inspired by! Not only is it amazing, but this story also takes place in the middle of the first chapter, so it’ll be a lot easier to understand.
> 
> Here’s the summary in case you just want to start this fic. Geralt is cursed to be trapped in a castle by Stregobor, who wants him to kill Renfri, and is keeping him there until he agrees to do it. Anytime Geralt tries to set foot on the ground outside the castle, he is magically electrocuted and gets tossed back inside the castle. 
> 
> Thank you to the author of That Unwanted Animal, who gave me ideas, and encouraged me to be as chaotic as I wanted!😘
> 
> Warning for many uses of the word fuck, but no other swear words.
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Geralt considers the likelihood of escape. Of the enchantments wearing off. Where Roach might be, what Stregobor might have done to her. His missing medallion. _

_ “Fuck.” _

**Fucks given:1**

He has to try of course, there is a whole castle full of resources to use, and maybe, if he is incredibly lucky (like he usually isn’t) there will be a loophole in the magic. Stregobor may be powerful, but he can’t be powerful enough to prevent against every possibility right? 

(He can’t deny that this situation also reminds him of the elaborate tales he read like crazy when he was still convinced Witchers could be as beloved as knights, where there was always a loophole in the magic, and always a happy ending) 

Even if there isn’t one, he has to  _ try  _ at least, if only to say that he did, and maybe make Vesemir proud of his tenacity. 

**Attempt four**

Maybe if he has something over his feet, his feet won’t touch the ground, and bounce him back. 

He ties some broken boards over his feet with strips of the curtains, and takes a few steps. It’s awkward, and he’d be in a lot of danger if a monster attacked, but without his swords, he’d probably end up dead anyway. 

He stepped over the threshold. 

A wild shock of magic threw him backwards, stumbling over the awful shoes, and landing flat on the floor. 

His body ached, and his head spun a bit, but the pain was already fading. Well, he had always been told that a Witcher could get used to anything, so he’d probably get used to the pain. 

And this may not have worked, but something would, this was an obvious answer, surely there would be ideas that he hadn’t thought of. It seemed to happen when his feet came close to the grass, maybe if his foot was raised higher…

**Attempt five**

Luckily, there were several buckets in the kitchen, and while some of them crumbled the moment he put weight on them, two of them were sturdy enough to walk on. 

He tied them to his feet, and took a few steps. Far more awkward than the planks of wood, but maybe with this height, he would clear the barrier on the ground. 

The moment the first bucket touched the ground, he was thrown back, limbs numb and wobbly. He was still wobbling, but standing up, which was a relief. 

Then one last spark hit him and he overbalanced, tumbling to the floor again. 

“Fuck Stregobor, and fuck his magic” he muttered once he had his breath back.

**Fucks given:3**

So this magic was as much of an asshole as Stregobor himself. Good to know. 

**Attempt six**

He had heard his brothers talk of a strange sport, played in a specific city, where they used a flexible wooden poles to launch themselves forwards over canals, so maybe if he could find a flexible enough stick…

With luck, he found a young ash tree close to a window. He used a cane he had found by a fire to grasp for the top of it, but then it slipped. 

He braced himself as the end hurtled towards the ground, but… he didn’t feel a spark of pain. He opened his eyes to see one end of the cane on the ground, yet he was feeling no pain. 

Maybe this could actually work, if he was far enough away from the part touching the ground. 

Once he managed to drag the top towards him with the cane, he pulled it out of the ground with some effort, hauling it through the window. He broke off the branches, then carved it into a long pole with one of the kitchen knives. It was rough, and would likely splinter his hands, but it would be more than worth it to get out of here. 

He stared at the entrance, judging his strides, calculating how many it would take to get to the threshold without stepping over it. He wanted to do it right the first time, just in case the stick got stuck in the ground. 

His brothers had given him a demonstration, and it looked relatively simple, as long as he kept control of his body, but they had all been trained to be as good as they could possibly be, so this should be easy. 

Once he was sure he was ready, he took a deep breath, then began to run. 

He ran as fast as he could, then planted the stick and leapt. It was working, he realized, as the stick caught perfectly in the ground. The stick caught him, not slipping at all, and for a brief second he was soaring, being launched upwards by the stick, and then—Pain. 

It struck him like a lightning bolt, shoving him backwards into the castle, making him tumble across the floor until his back hit a statue. His muscles twitched with agony, and he gasped for breath, completely winded. 

Well that didn’t work. 

But, if he thought about it, every time he got struck back, he had put his weight on something that touched the ground. If he didn’t touch the ground at all…

**Attempts seven, eight, and nine**

Sometimes at Kaer Morhen, when all the chores had been done, and they were all feeling restless, they would make a ramp of snow and ski off of it, using Aard to blast themselves even higher and longer. Of course, he didn’t have a ramp or skis, but maybe he could use Aard by itself. He had been able to make longer jumps with Aard when desperate after all...

He ran up to the threshold and leapt, signing Aard just as he began to fall. It did propel him forwards, but it spun him around wildly in the air, so he had no clue what direction he had come from. 

He curled into a ball and braced himself for the impact, knowing that he would never make it out of the courtyard like this. 

He hit the grass like it was a stone wall, slamming him backwards with a shock that made his teeth buzz in his skull. He tumbled backwards into the open doorway, but he managed to gain control of his tumble and end standing, though wobbly and nauseous. 

He stood there for a minute to gain his breath back. It clearly worked in concept. If it wasn’t for the odd angle, he wouldn’t have tumbled, and he hadn’t been blasted back until he had hit the ground. He just needed more practice.

He tried again, this time with a far better angle. 

He signs Aard once, and stays upright, then twice, and he’s still upright. He’s actually doing this! It’s actually working! He Aards once more, and—

A blinding pain all down the front of his body, like he’d run face first into a tree. He scrabbled at the air, but fell to the ground nonetheless, shocking him and driving him back into the castle, tumbling uncontrollably.

He lay on the hard floor a moment, his muscles trembling. 

“Fuck,” he muttered.

**Fucks given:4**

He had forgotten that there was a tree in the middle of the trail to the outside, because nobles couldn’t care less about having  _ straight and efficient paths.  _ And he hadn’t been looking where he was going and ended up running right into it.

“Double fuck,” he muttered, knowing that he had messed up.

**Fucks given:6**

He needed to try again, but this time he needed to keep his eyes on his surroundings.

He lined himself up and tried again, but angling himself away from the tree this time. First Aard went fine, as well as the second and third, but when he did the fourth one, it didn’t work. He was out of energy to use Signs. 

He curled up in a ball and braced himself, knowing the impact was inevitable. 

It was awful, the pain of him hitting the ground and not being able to roll out the momentum, and the sharp shock of magic driving him backwards. But his roll kept the impact with the stone from being as bad as it could, and he did end up on his feet, so that was a plus. 

This would work eventually, he knew that, but without a potion to regenerate stamina, he would have to wait awhile before trying again. He would likely need all the stamina he could get, because he had barely gotten a third of the way. He might need to practice getting the absolute perfect angle to get the most forward motion out of each Aard. And if he waited, he could try a few other ways to try to get around the magic in the meantime.

**Attempts ten to eighty-four**

He started whistling for Roach. 

He  _ knows  _ how unlikely it is that she’s close enough to hear him, or for anyone to be nearby to help, but maybe she, (or another tamed animal) will catch the noise, and bring someone here. They might not want to help a Witcher, but… he has to try. 

He went through the castle, going through what resources he has in this place, and whistling out every window and door, so he has the widest possible range for the sound. He can’t find anything he hasn’t found before in other rooms, but the more resources he has, the better, and he’s working the aches out of his joints from all the hard falls. 

He takes a break to sip at some water from the bowl, and then tries again. He does find some good knives on the way through the castle, but nothing else. His whistling isn’t working (obviously) so he has to try something else.

**Attempt eighty-five**

He examines the bowl of water. It, the basket of meat, and the crystal are the only things he knows are from Stregobor. He may not be nearly as powerful as Eskel, but he knows that if Stregobor wants to keep him alive at least until winter, this amount of food and water will not last him even half that long. He must have a way of making more water. Maybe when he does that, a weakness will be shown. He drags a tub into the kitchen (because all the buckets were broken in previous attempts) and starts to pour the water bowl into it. He turns the bowl over, but… water keeps rushing out, for far longer than it should.

“Fuck,” he said

**Fucks given:7**

At the very least it’s connected to a well or something, and water will just keep pouring out. He sets the bowl down again. At least he has enough water for a decent bath now. And even in a tub, conveniently enough.

**Attempt eighty-six**

He tries it with the meat basket as well, pulling the chunks out of the basket. It fills to the brim with fresh meat instantly. 

**Attempt eighty-seven**

But if Stregobor’s magic was all over these… the magic outside might not affect the basket. He didn’t know  _ how  _ he would get across the courtyard while balancing on top of a basket, but he had to make sure it wouldn’t affect him with the basket between him and the ground first. 

He took every piece of meat but one out of the basket, so it wouldn’t fill up again, then took it to the entrance. He set the basket on the ground outside, then slowly put his weight on top of it. 

He staggered back from the shock, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the times he hit the ground with speed. The amount of pain was likely increased by how fast he was going when he slammed into the ground. 

**Attempts eighty-eight to one hundred and thirty-three**

Geralt pops the last piece of meat in the basket into his mouth, making the basket fill up again. Raw meat isn’t exactly appetizing, but he can’t get sick from it like humans can, and it’s still food, so he can’t exactly complain. 

What should he do with the two piles of meat on the table though? He doesn’t want them to sit there and rot, but he definitely wouldn’t be able to eat that much in a day. But then he gets an idea. If his whistling could attract pets, then maybe he could use the meat to attract some more wild ones. 

He’d caught the scent of wolves in the area, and the faintest hint of bear as well, so he’d probably get a good gathering of them if he threw the meat outside. He doesn’t know what he’ll do once he  _ has  _ them there, but any resource is better than none. 

He carries the meat to one of the side doors and throws it as far as he can, nearly getting it through the gate leading to the woods. He can check on that later, if he’s even here for that long.

**Attempts one hundred and thirty-four to one hundred and seventy-one**

Geralt can feel that he’s close to regaining back all of his stamina, so, to make the waiting easier, he goes through the castle again, whistling out of every window and door. 

It’s unlikely to work, yes, but not impossible. 

Roach is a very good girl, and very loyal. If any horse could do it, it would be her. And even if he can’t  _ ride  _ her out of here, he could send her out with a message, or maybe even—he laughs a bit at the thought—maybe Stregobor made it so that only true love's kiss would cure the spell. If that was true, he could just give Roach a kiss on her muzzle, and be out of here a minute later. That would be incredibly nice.

**Attempts one hundred and seventy-two to one hundred and seventy-nine**

When he tries Aard again, he doesn’t even try to get close to the entrance. He instead works on finding the perfect angle for reaching as far as possible with each Aard. He needs all the wiggle room he can get with how far the gate is. He lets himself drop after the first one every time. 

Geralt ends up battered and aching by the end of it, but satisfied. He's managed to get the perfect angle, so he should be able to get out tomorrow, once he has his stamina back. He finds a non-ruined bed in one of the rooms and gets to sleep instantly, knowing he’ll be out of here tomorrow.


	2. Day two, or;Geralt’s hope is crushed into progressively smaller pieces

**Attempt one hundred and eighty**

The next morning, Geralt woke up bright and early to make his final attempt. He has the perfect angle, all his stamina, and the lessons he’s learned. He’s ready. 

He walks to the entrance, looking beautiful in the morning sunlight, and starts the run up. He leaps and signs Aard, and he’s on his way. 

With every Aard he can see the entrance getting closer, closer,  _ closer— _ and then he can’t use any more Aard. 

He’s tumbling to the ground, still at  _ least  _ one more Aard away from the gate and freedom. 

He curls into a ball and braces for impact. 

The jolt hits him hard enough that he can’t stop rolling once he’s back in the castle, he can't decelerate enough to stand up out of the roll. Then he slams into something, and the world goes black for a moment. 

When he wakes up, it’s probably only been a few seconds, but he aches all over. 

He’s against a wall, legs above his head, and back against the wall, neck aching at the angle. When he blinks his eyes open, he realizes, through swimming vision, that he’s against the wall at the farthest end of the hall. He didn’t make it out. 

Even if he somehow found an even better angle to sign Aard at, he wouldn’t be able to reach the edge of the property without a potion to increase the amount of stamina he can have. He needs to figure out something else. He rolls to his side, every muscle protesting, and lies there for a long second, trying to gather the strength to sit up again.

“Fuck this fucking curse,” he mutters to himself.

**Fucks given:9**

**Attempt one hundred and eighty-one**

Geralt manages to hobble to the kitchen after several minutes gathering himself. He eats some meat and drinks some water, exhausted. 

Then he hears the yipping and barking of wolves near the back door. When he opens it, he sees a small pack of wolves eating the meat he had tossed on the ground yesterday. Some of them are ranging quite close to the door, and he gets a crazy idea.

Once he’s grabbed a stray sheet and rolled it into a rope of sorts, he cautiously opens the door again, to find the wolves still gathering there. He holds his breath and readies himself to leap. 

He lands on the back of the wolf nearest to the door, but the shock tosses him back instantly, a yelp coming from the wolf. Once he’s regained his senses, the wolves are long gone, and he’s pretty sure that the wolf he landed on was hurt. He’s definitely not trying that again.

**Attempts one hundred and eighty-two to two hundred and two**

Geralt grabs the rest of the meat from the basket and tosses it outside, frustrated from his lack of progress.

**Attempt two hundred and three**

He wanders the castle again, not doing anything in particular, just looking for  _ something  _ that might help him get out of this place without touching the ground. Out of one of the windows, he spies a particularly tall tree, and he remembers the makeshift rope he made with the sheet that’s still in his hands.

He spends a lot of time making a long enough and strong enough bedsheet rope, making sure it can hold him, so he only has to try this once if it doesn’t work. 

Once he’s done, he goes to the top of the tallest intact tower and swings his rope at the tree. It takes a few tries to catch and hold, but eventually it does, which is a relief. He can only just barely hold the end of the rope, but the tree is about halfway between the castle and the outside, so as long as the rope holds up, he should be able to get across. 

He takes a deep breath and leaps out the window. The rope stays in place, and he’s moving forward quickly, but the ground is getting closer even faster. He’s going to hit the ground. 

He tries to scramble up the rope, but he hits the ground before he can make it a foot higher. 

The shock of the hit makes him bounce upwards, spinning wildly, and even though he manages to get himself into a ball  _ just  _ before hitting the ground, he bounces inside the castle again, tumbling hard. 

He doesn’t open his eyes, because he feels like he’s about to throw up, even with his eyes closed. There’s absolutely no way that’s going to work.

**Attempt two hundred and four**

Once he’s not staggering into walls anymore, he goes back into the kitchen and grabs the water bowl. He is going to get that stretch of land wet and mucky, because like hell is he going to land on hard ground again if he can help it. 

It takes a lot of water, but it does eventually happen, turning the sloping drive into a mud pit. Geralt’s just glad that there aren’t any flowers to kill in the front. 

The bowl hasn’t run out yet though, so it must be connected to a very large source of water. It reminds him of the ice slopes they make and slide down in the winter, and he gets another idea. There’s almost no chance of it working, but he needs to try at least. 

Geralt is not good at carpentry. At all. He’s the very worst of the remaining Wolves, but he knows a few things at least. But with his makeshift tools, and him not using even the normal tools often, he keeps hurting himself.

“Fuck,” he says when he hits himself with the makeshift hammer. “Fucking thumb,” he says when he hits it again. “Fuck,” he says when he hits his head on his own creation. “Fucking fuck,” he says when the whole thing nearly falls apart the first time he tries to move it.

**Fucks given:14**

He makes it work eventually, despite the mishaps. It doesn’t look pretty, but it seems to be functional. Of course, he won’t know until he tries it out.

It’s a misshapen thing, made of taken apart furniture and half rotten wood, but he only needs it to work once. It’s a kind of boat, with a place for him to sit and a sail, but it also has skis on the bottom to hopefully make it through the mud easier. He also attaches his bedsheet rope to it in case he needs to haul it back once he crashes back into the castle.

It’s relatively light, thank goodness, so he easily pushes it along with him as he runs towards the entrance. He jumps in, throwing an Aard at the sail, bracing for the hit, but… it doesn’t happen. He’s free! The wind is flying in his face from the speed, and it’s actually  _ working!  _ He still has the rope uncoiling from it’s spot at the door, but it isn’t tied to anything, so he’ll be able to actually get out of here! 

“Fuck yeah!” He whoops, excited that he’s finally getting out.

**Fucks given:15**

But then his contraption starts to slow, not even halfway there. He throws another Aard at the sail, but it keeps slowing down, and then he’s shocked again. He flies back into the castle, already knowing exactly when he needs to roll so he can get up easily. It’s almost routine at this point.

He lies on the floor, trying to ignore his aches as he tries to figure out where he went wrong. It had been fine as he moved fast, but when he slowed down, he got shocked back. Maybe if he could increase his speed?

**Attempt two hundred and five**

It takes forever to haul his boat thing back, entire body aching, but he prays to Melitele that it works this time. This time, he will hold the endless water bowl at the back to hopefully push him just a tiny bit faster, and even more consistently. 

He tries again.

It actually seems to be working this time, the water coming out of the bowl pushing him at a constant speed, fast enough that he’s not being pushed back yet. He gets past the halfway point, water spraying all over the mud, but then—it stops. He pulls the bowl up and sees only a thin trickle coming out. He must have drained dry the water source it was connected to. 

“Fuck,” he swears vehemently as his boat slows down.

**Fucks given:16**

He’s thrown back to the castle again, leaving the boat to its journey, the rope trailing behind it, too far to reach.

“Fucking non-endless water bowl,” he swears once he realizes that the bowl still has barely a trickle sliding out of it.

**Fucks given:17**

**Attempt two hundred and six**

There is now a large pond in the centre of the grounds. Great.

But maybe this could be an opportunity? If he swims and doesn’t touch the bottom, maybe it’ll work? He has to find a way to actually get to it though. So far his best bet is to jump propelled by Aard and hope for the best. Fabulous.

He tries it once. He gets nowhere near the water, but still gets covered in mud, despite his brief touch to the ground.

“Fucking mud,” he says, on the verge of giving up.

**Fucks given:18**

**Attempt two hundred and seven**

He lays on the ground for a long time, trying to get the energy to get up.

_ “Hello?”  _ A voice says, directly into his head. 

_ “Hello?”  _ He asks back, confused.  _ “Who are you?” _

_ “I am Disoles,”  _ the voice said.  _ “I am a dragon that lives near this valley. And you are?”  _

_ “Geralt,”  _ he says, relaxing for the first time in a while. Witcher code forbids killing dragons, and dragons know this and are usually more willing to help a Witcher than a human. Maybe this dragon could help him!  _ “I’m a Witcher. Could you help me? I’m trapped in a destroyed castle by a curse.” _

_ “So you’re the one that drew the wolves in,”  _ they say in his mind, sounding pleasantly surprised.  _ “I’ve not had an easier meal in a long time. But why were you cursed?”  _

_ “A mage called Stregobor,”  _ he says.  _ “I wouldn’t kill someone without reason, and he wanted me to. Cursed me to stay in here until I decide to kill her, which I won’t.” _

_ “Oh, that mage,”  _ Disoles says, disgust thick in their tone.  _ “He saw one of my shed scales and nearly went mad with delight. I moved out after that, just in case. If I can get something over him, I’d be glad to, but I will only try once. I'd rather not get caught by him.”  _

_ “Perfectly reasonable,”  _ Geralt said, hobbling to the front door.  _ “If I step on the ground, I get shoved back into the castle. Can you do a flying pickup?”  _

_ “I’m sure I can,”  _ they said. A green dragon swooped into view. Far smaller and more common than their other cousins, but still more than sufficient to get him away from here.

_ “Can you get a message to a friend of mine if this doesn’t work?”  _ He asked, moving so he was in the centre of the door, just behind the threshold for ease of pickup.

_ “Sorry but no,”  _ they said.  _ “I’d rather not go near to humans, and that seems necessary for me to find your friend. I’m coming in now.” _

It was a truly beautiful sight, watching the green dragon coming in, framed against the setting sun, scales gleaming.

She picked him up with surprising ease, and suddenly he was rushing through the sky, held safely in her claws.

“Fuck yeah!” He whooped in exhilaration. 

**Fucks given:19**

Lambert and Eskel were going to be  _ incredibly  _ jealous when he told them of getting rescued by a dragon.

They rose higher and higher into the air, but then Disoles said in his mind,  _ “I can feel magic! Something’s wrong!”  _

Not again, he thought, a split second before he and Disoles were hit by the magic.

He tumbled downwards, seeing Disoles tumble a little but swoop back up and catch themselves. He was still falling though, tumbling quickly towards the castle.

He braced himself for the impact.

He tumbled inside the castle, feeling like every inch of him was hitting the stone, rolling erratically across the stone floor.

He blacked out for what seemed to be a long time, and came back up to a voice yelling in his mind. 

_ “Geralt? Geralt?”  _

_ “I’m fine,”  _ he managed inside his head.  _ “Or at least not dead.” _

_ “I’m glad. I have to go though, just in case Stregobor comes back!” _

_ “Go. Thank you for trying,”  _ he said, trying to make his head stop spinning.

He opened his eyes, and he felt nauseous, the world spinning around him, and the light of the sunset piercing his eyes and making his headache grow.

“Fuck Stregobor, fuck the curse, and fuck Chaos,” Geralt muttered, staring at the stone roof above his head, which was swirling in time with the pounding of his head.

**Fucks given:22**

He had the sudden urge to tear down the castle, just so the spell wouldn’t have anywhere to shove him back into, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to destroy even just the front hall by himself, even if he started now, and worked without rest until the very end of the curse.

If even getting a  _ dragon  _ to help him hadn’t worked… nothing would. His entire body ached from the fall and electrocution, head aching, completely out of energy. 

“You know what?” He muttered, sitting up, making his head pound worse. “I don’t give a fuck anymore, let’s see if Stregobor comes when called.”

**Fucks given:0**

He forced himself up, and staggered into the kitchen, where the knives were.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know if there’s any egregious errors, I’m going to bed now.


End file.
